No More Single Fate
by RainyDays-and-DayDreams
Summary: Because Sherlock and John are going to be together, no matter the time or universe. A 30 Day AU Challenge. Johnlock.
1. Intro

_Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are inseparable, in the cosmic sense. _

_No matter what universe one is from, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are going to be together in some way, shape, or form. Try to separate them, and the universe protests. Their meeting is a factor that must always happen, no matter the consequences. It is a cosmic inevitability. It cannot not happen. There is no way to prevent it._

_No matter how one says it, these two men will meet in some form. _

_There are an infinite number of possible meeting and possible series of events, to match an infinite number of universes. There is no conceivable way of portraying them all. _

_One thing is for certain, however: _

_They will meet._


	2. Day 1: Fantasy AU

**_Day 1 Challenge: Fantasy AU_**

* * *

_Dedicated to Nonnymoose. (Anonymoustache.) For letting me convince her to do crazy shit like this. _

* * *

**I own nothing.**

* * *

_Duck, parry, climb, dive, reach, strike._

In theory, it was simple enough. But that was in theory.

In reality, getting a dragon to not only perform these maneuvers, but to execute them flawlessly, without being thrown off in the process, was damn near impossible.

John Watson knew this better than anyone. He'd been nearly thrown off more times than he could count. (Thankfully, never thrown off fully. Those who were thrown off mid-air didn't survive.)

The hot air and dust slammed into him as he set down, sweat pouring off of his brow. He looked down, breathing heavily, before rising out of the saddle slowly.

Greg, his trainer, was rushing toward him. John groaned, looking down.

"John!" he yelled, panting as he ran up to him. "What-" he gasped out, "The hell was that?"

John winced, leaning against James', his now happily-eating dragon's, leg. "I don't know."

Greg snorted, shaking his head. "Well, whatever it was, fix it, soon. You've got a fight tomorrow, and Holmes isn't going to be happy with you if you fuck up this badly."

John sighed, running a hand through his short, wind-blown blonde hair. "Yeah, I know."

It didn't come as a surprise to anyone when, not long after being discharged from the army for being injured, John joined a dragon-fighting ring. They were legal, and serious injuries were rare, but that didn't make it any less dangerous.

John looked down, exhaled, then looked up. "Meet me for a few pints later?"

Lestrade shook his head, laughing. "Yeah, no. If you wake up tomorrow with a hangover and can't fight, Holmes'll kill me."

John shook his head. "Alright. See you tomorrow, then?"

Lestrade smiled and nodded, before walking away.

John sighed, petting James' thigh.

He was so, so fucked.

* * *

Sherlock shot the man in front of him another glare.

Seriously, they'd told him to fight him? The short man, ex-army doctor, psychosomatic limp, with an injured shoulder? Granted, he'd been informed by Mycroft that he was one of the best riders they had. But given the evidence in front of him, he doubted he was even semi-decent.

Besides, he thought, smirking, even if he was one of the best, he wasn't the best.

He petted Evelyn's, his dragon's, leg, shooting another look at his competition across the field.

This would be too easy.

* * *

John glared at the tall, lanky, pompous git across the field.

He had seen the way he'd looked at him, like he was just another mediocre rider, barely worth his time. He saw that all too often from others, especially from fellow riders in the ring Mycroft Holmes owned.

It rather irked him.

Yes, he didn't exactly look the type, but he was a damn good rider.

He glared at the man again as he caught him staring at him.

He vowed silently right then to himself to beat him.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer began, and the crowd roared.

Sherlock tuned him out as he focused on the man in front of him. He was beginning to think that perhaps his original assessment of this man- John Watson, the announcer told him- as a mediocre rider wrong. There was no way he could have climbed onto his saddle as easily as he did if he wasn't as good, if not better, than Mycroft said he was.

Still, he should be able to beat him.

Or so he told himself.

* * *

On of John's favourite parts about flying was taking off, and the initial surge, then race, into the air.

The first blast of air, the swooping sensation of leaving the ground, and the exhilaration of climbing rapidly- it was perfect. Calmed his hand's tremor.

He looked around for his opponent- _Sherlock Holmes, _his mind supplied_, Mycroft Holmes' brother_- and spotted him.

He grinned. _Got you. _

Sherlock chose precisely that moment to look up, however, and shot up as John dived.

John cursed and guided James up and around, so that he was face-to-face with his opponent.

The men stared at each other for a minute, glaring.

Suddenly, John shot up, faster than Sherlock could react, and was behind him, pointing his sword at him.

Sherlock raised his hands in mock-surrender, before diving once more, before John could process it, and coming up above him.

John, however, was faster than he expected, and before Sherlock knew it, they were at eye level again.

Soon, their battle turned into a giant game of thrust-and-parry and climb-and-dive, each player equally matched for each other.

The crowd beneath was thrilled.

Finally, John managed to trap Sherlock- he held his sword over his heart, quivering slightly as he breathed heavily with exertion.

Sherlock slowly raised his hands in surrender, grinning at John as the crowd below cheered wildly.

Sherlock gently guided Evelyn to the ground, smiling at John as he set down James.

The announcer pronounced John the winner, and Sherlock walked back inside the pavilion.

* * *

A few hours later, John was beginning to wash James when a man walked up behind him.

"Hello," he said, deep baritone rumbling slightly.

John jumped, quickly turning around, gasping, "Jesus!" He took a deep breath as he recognized the man. "You're Sherlock, right?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. And you're John Watson, former army doctor with a psychosomatic limp and a bit of an adrenaline craving."

John looked around, suspicious. "How did you know that?"

Sherlock grinned. "The same way I can tell you're looking for a flat."

John cocked an eyebrow. "Am I?"

"Yes, you are," Sherlock smirked. "221B Baker Street. Meet me there tomorrow at noon." He then held out his hand. "And I do hope you know how rare this is for me to say, but you are a fairly decent rider."

John frowned. "Fairly decent?"

Sherlock smirked. "As good as me."

John sighed and shook hands with the man. "I'd say better, seeing as I just beat you."

Sherlock retracted his hand and began to walk away. "We'll see about that."

John watched him go, confused, before calling out, "Wait! Mr. Homes!"

Sherlock turned around. "Call me Sherlock, please. And yes?"

John smirked. "I think you're supposed to ask me to dinner first, before we move in together."

Sherlock smirked. "Normal's boring. Though I'm not opposed to dinner. I know a Chinese place."

John grinned. "See you then."

Sherlock smirked and walked away.

* * *

_**This is so, totally, and completely my fault. I'd like to apologize to Nonnymoose right now for dragging her into this, for sending her this link along with the line "WE SHOULD DO THIS TOGETHER!"**_

_**Also, I hope she forgives me for calling her Nonnymoose, but I'm tired and can't think of anything else to call her.**_

_**Yes, folks, this is a 30 Day AU Challenge, which means that unless dire circumstances arise, I shall be updating daily. **_

**_Well, I won't be bored this summer._**

**_Also, the title of this fic is taken from a line from "Reunion" by M83. _**

**_Here's to hoping I survive this. *raises toast* Cheers._**

**_Please, please review. I love them as much as Sherlock loves triple homicides. So a rather awful lot._**

**_Thank you._**

**_Goodnight, or good morning,_**

**_Love, Rainy_**


	3. Day 2: High School AU

_Dedicated to Nonnymoose. Thank for not hating the nickname. ;)_

* * *

**DAY 2 CHALLENGE: HIGH SCHOOL AU**

**Challenge accepted.**

* * *

Sherlock glared at the girl across the table, scooting closer to John.

She needed to bugger. _Off._ John was his.

Sherlock drew John even closer, glaring at the oblivious girl, who was still flirting obviously with John, high pitched voice grating against his nerves.

Just then, the bell rang. Sherlock sighed with relief, standing quickly, still holding John's hand. The girl rushed off to her class, clutching her bookbag to her chest, and Sherlock glared at her. He looked over at John, who was looking at Sherlock, a small, fond smile gracing his lips.

"You know, I can handle myself."

Sherlock frowned. "I'm aware. That doesn't mean I have to like it when others flirt with you."

John chuckled, squeezing his hand. "I know." He checked the time. "We should go. I've got anatomy next."

Sherlock smiled. "See you in history, then."

John shook his head, laughing. "Of course. Though I don't know why they make us take American history. We're exchange students."

Sherlock shrugged, smiling. "I have no clue." He leaned forward, whispering in John's ear, "I'm glad, however, that we do have it together."

John shuddered, breathing heavily, then pulled back and kissed Sherlock's cheek. "See you then." He rushed off to class, bag in his hands.

Sherlock chuckled and walked off to Chemistry, watching John as he ran to class.

He walked into his class, sitting down in the back. He pulled out his phone, sending John a quick text.

_Do we still have plans for dinner?_  
_SH_

Sherlock looked up as the teacher began to take role, then looked down as his phone buzzed, smiling.

_Of course. ;) _

"Put the phone away, Mister Holmes, or I'll take it."

Sherlock sighed and put the phone away in his pocket, and began to pretend to pay attention to the teacher, smiling softly to himself.

Dinner that night would be wonderful.

* * *

_**So, short and sweet tonight. I could have probably made this a little longer (okay, a lot longer), but I just wanted this one out of the way as quickly as possible. There are probably a fuck-ton of mistakes, so I apologize for that. Also, Americanisms. And typos. Sorry, guys. *buries head in sand***_

_**To BlindViolinist- thank you so much! That's very sweet of you. And yes, prompts would be fantastic. **_

_**That goes to all of you- PROMPTS PLEASE I NEED THEM I DESIRE THEM THEY ARE VERY HELPFUL PLEASE AND THANK**_

_**Also, here is the full list of prompts I am supposed to do. They are subject to change. **_

_**1. Fantasy**_

_**2. Highschool**_

_**3. 1950s**_

_**4. Superhero**_

_**5. Western/Cowboys**_

_**6. 1920s/Mafia**_

_**7. Steampunk**_

_**8. Disney Movie/Fairytale**_

_**9. Police/Detectives**_

_**10. Time Travel  
**_

_**11. Hogwarts/Harry Potterverse**_

_**12. Runaways/Homeless**_

_**13. 1940s/WWII**_

_**14. Pirates**_

_**15. Asylum**_

_**16. Turn of the Century**_

_**17. Plot of your Favorite Book  
**_

_**18. Elizabethan Era**_

_**19. Futuristic**_

_**20. Prostitutes/Strip Club**_

_**21. College  
**_

_**22. Office**_

_**23. Vampires and Werewolves **_

_**24. Genderswapped**_

_**25. Circus**_

_**26. The Plot of your Favorite Movie  
**_

_**27. Hospital**_

_**28. Orphanage  
**_

_**29. In A Band**_

_**30. Any Other of Your Choosing**_

_**hAHAHAHAHAH YEAH can you sense the nightmares I'm going to have over some of these?**_

_**So, if any of those don't appeal to you, just don't read that day. Also, for the book plot one, I'm going to be doing The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and I am undecided on the movie one. (I'm tempted to do Third Star, but anyone who's seen the movie, or knows how it ends, can see why I'm reluctant.)**_

_**Anyhoo, lovelies, please review! For the sake of Sherlock and triple homicides! **_

_**Goodnight, or good morning,**_

_**Love, Rainy**_


	4. Day 3: 1950s AU

_Dedicated to Nonnymoose. I'm so sorry about what happened. And to mi amor. (You know who you are. Love you, sweetie.)_

* * *

**DAY 3 CHALLENGE: 1950s**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.**

* * *

John pulled Sherlock into the alley, made sure no one was looking, shoved him against the wall, and began to snog him thoroughly.

Sherlock gasped, fingers clutching the back of John's jacket, pulling him back slightly. "John, we're in public," he managed to gasp out.

John kept his hands tight on his forearms, shaking his head. "No one's here right now." He leaned in closer, whispering in his ear, "And beside, you look fantastic in that jacket," leaning back in to kiss him fiercely, hand moving to bury itself in his hair.

Sherlock gave in, hands wrapping around John's waist, moaning, when a voice interrupted them, shouting, "Oi! You two! What the hell d'you think you're doing?"

Sherlock quickly pushed John off of him, panic in his eyes. He grabbed his hand and ran down the alley with him, trying to get away before the man could see who they were.

They cane to a stop a few blocks later, panting. John straightened slightly, adjusting his jacket, still gasping for air, shooting a look at Sherlock. "Do you... Do you think he saw us?"

Sherlock shook his head, wheezing. "No."

John collapsed against the wall, closing his eyes and gasping with relief, still slightly out of breath. "Good."

He suddenly leaned forward and placed another soft kiss on Sherlock's lips, before pulling back and looking up at him. "See you tomorrow, then?"

Sherlock smiled weakly at him. "Yes."

* * *

"Do you think there's a place where we won't have to hide?"

Sherlock frowned at John behind him in the mirror.

"I don't think so."

John smiled sadly. "Then maybe one day, in the future?"

Sherlock turned around, grabbing John's jacket collar, pulling him closer and whispering hot in his ear. "I don't know. Maybe." He grinned. "Hopefully."

John closed his eyes, whispering breathily, "I think there will be."

Sherlock pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck. "Let's hope you're correct, then."

John closed his eyes, exhaling breathily, "Let's."

* * *

John clenched his fist for the umpteenth time that day, glaring silently at Anderson.

"And Holmes- both of them, actually- everyone knows they're both queers." He turned to John, grinning maliciously. "Hey, Johnny, why do you spend so much time with the younger one anyway?"

John looked down, trying to ignore the obnoxious nickname. "None of your business.

Anderson grinned, raising his eyebrows. "What, you hang out with him or something? Does he like you?" His voice quieted, becoming mocking. "Is he your boyfriend?"

"Fuck off," John spat, beginning to walk away.

Anderson called after him, jeering, a few of his "friends" calling after him.

John kept walking.

* * *

John frowned when he saw Sherlock. "What the hell happened to you?"

Sherlock rubbed his black eye, smiling wryly. "I had a run-in with one of our charming classmates."

John smiled grimly, pulling Sherlock closer to make sure there was no other damage. "What'd you say this time?"

Sherlock pulled back, looking mock-offended. "Nothing he and others shouldn't already know."

John raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock sighed. "That he was cheating on his girlfriend, he cheated on his last test, and he lost his job at the diner because the manager caught him skimming money from the register."

John shook his head, smiling.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, wincing as a bruise twinged. "What, you're not going to chastise me?"

John shook his head, smiling. "No, but I am going to ask you to be more careful about who you spout off your deductions to."

Sherlock scoffed, and John leant forward, laughing and pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock's cheek. "I love you."

Sherlock looked down, slightly flushed and taken aback, whispering, "I love you too."

* * *

Sherlock sat with John on top of the roof of his house, smoking a cigarette and looking at the stars with John.

"Mention the solar system one more time, and I will not be held responsible for my actions." He took another drag, setting it aside, blowing the smoke slowly.

John chuckled, turning to face Sherlock. "Promise I won't mention it again." He turned back to the stars, smiling. "At least for tonight."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, unable to stop a chuckle.

John turned to face Sherlock, watching as he crushed the cigarette out beside him, last of the smoking curling softly as he blew it out. He spoke up softly. "I'm serious about it, what I mentioned a while back. Do you really think that someday, we might not have to hide?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply. "Honestly, John, I've no idea." He turned to face him as well, smiling softly, "I do hope so, however."

"Yeah," John whispered, reaching over and taking his hand, squeezing it. "Me too." He turned to face the stars again.

"Me too."

* * *

_**Sooo, this happened. Honestly, guys, I have no idea what the fuck this is. Hopefully it's not too bad? Maybe?**_

_**Yeah, I don't know any more. Let's just roll with this.**_

_**Alright, so, for the movie AU, I have received suggestions for Labyrinth, How To Train Your Dragon, TFIOS, Star Trek: Into Darkness, and The Nightmare Before Christmas. I'm still taking suggestions, however (and not just so this prompt), so please, feel free to leave me some in a review or PM. **_

_**To BlindViolinist: YES I ACKNOWLEDGED YOU I WILL ALWAYS ACKNOWLEDGE THOSE WHO LEAVE REVIEWS *hugs you* I'm very flattered that you read some of my stories, and am even more flattered that you offered to review some of them. Thank you. You are too kind. :')**_

_**Also, I know some of you (if not most/all) are also following Anonymoustache's challenge, which she is doing along with me. She was unfortunately unable to update today, as a personal matter arose. In the meantime: if you have not read what she has posted so far for this challenge, or any of her other stories, in fact, WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE? GO. GO NOW. BATHE IN HER AWESOME LITERARY GLORY. **_

_**This is my short, sweet paragraph dedicated to the one I love, who spends many ours of the day thinking about me, and I spend excessive amounts of time thinking about as well. Your texts brighten my day, and make the sun shine brighter. You make my life better, and you make me happy. Thank you. I love you. Also, go study. And good luck with your exams.**_

_**Lastly, a brief observation: You know your life has reached a strange place when someone mentions the upcoming fifteenth of June, and your first two thoughts are a) "TWO YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF NIGHT VALE WOOOOOOO" and b) "mmm wonder what the challenge for that day is? lemme check", not "oh yeah that is the sixteenth anniversary of my birth". **_

_**PLEASE REVIEW! Because Sherlock loves his triple homicides, mhm, yes he does. **_

_**Goodnight, or good morning,**_

_**Love, Rainy**_

_**P.S. A note- technically, I started this on the 1st of June. Which means that this will technically end on the 30th of June. Which gives me approximately 0 days before my 30 Day OTP Challenge for Mystrade that I am writing to celebrate Anonymoustache's birthday. Eh, what can I say. A story a day keeps the boredom away. XP (mostly.)**_

_**P.P.S Yes, I realize this is major-super-ultra-really-fucking-late, but I am actually the actual laziest fucker who has ever written in the history of ever, and I didn't start writing this until eight at night, with two hour-long breaks. So please, forgive my eternal procrastination. **_


	5. Day 4: Superheroes AU

_Dedicated to Nonnymoose and my love. _

* * *

**DAY 4 CHALLENGE: Superheroes AU**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.**

* * *

John honestly didn't know when it began, or if it had even had a beginning. The power had been there for as long as he could remember.

_Playing with his sister on the playground, a sudden scream. Running over to her, seeing the red running down her leg from a gash on her leg. Looking at it, pressing a hand to the wound, there being a sudden flash of light, and then there was blood on her leg that didn't have a source. The look of awe, confusion, and slight fear on her face as she looked up at him, mouth open slightly with shock._

Sometimes he felt guilty about how he was the one who ended up with the power, that his sister was the one who was left normal. Others he was thankful that it was him and not her. Heaven knew how well she would handle it.

None of this changed the fact that he had the power, and he to hide it from nearly everyone.

* * *

Sherlock had his first meltdown from the voices when he was four.

His mother and father were having a dinner party downstairs, and he was expected to at least make an appearance.

"But I don't want to," he told his mother petulantly.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "It's just a dinner party, Sherlock."

Sherlock glared at him, sticking his tongue out at him when their mother wasn't looking. Mycroft mouthed back, "Remember the East Wind." Sherlock shot him another glare.

A few minutes later, however, Sherlock forgot the East Wind. He forgot everything, except the sheer amount of information entering his head, too fast, too much, far, far too much-

He sunk against the wall, eyes shut tight, hands clapped over his ears, trying to make it go away, trying to contain a scream of pain and fear.

His mother ran up to him, kneeling beside him, frantically calling to him, but Mycroft gently pushed her aside. "I've got him, mother," he said distractedly. "I'll take him upstairs."

Their mother nodded reluctantly and let Mycroft lead Sherlock upstairs, away from the voices.

That was when he explained he had the same power, and he knew how to control it, how to not let it overwhelm him.

Sherlock paid rapt attention.

* * *

John learned early on that his ability, as he'd started calling it, only worked on others, not himself.

Which is why, he supposed, he was bleeding to death underneath the hot Afghani sun.

John cursed and closed his eyes, letting the pain colour his vision black.

* * *

There were times when Sherlock thought Mycroft could be proud of him, if he wasn't a complete and utter failure in everything his older brother had told him to do.

He had, however, taken to heart the one lesson his older brother had striven to teach him more than any other: sentiment wasn't an advantage. It was a chemical defect, and a dangerous one at that- not only for its effect on average, ordinary people, the violent acts it caused them to commit, but the effect it had on Sherlock and Mycroft's minds. If they empathized with the person they were speaking with, even a little bit, their emotions would begin to flood through, and then every single thought, every detail, too much, too fast-

No, better to not bother with emotions at all.

* * *

The man that John met at Bart's Hospital Morgue was a complete and utter arse.

John often wondered why he agreed to live with the man, why he was so drawn to him. He was infuriating, selfish, and for the most part unfeeling.

Or at least, he pretended to be. There were times when John thought he caught the barest hint of sympathy, or something like that.

That, and the man was fascinating. He made his limp go away, he made his life interesting, and he could actually be kind when he wasn't trying to be clever.

So John lived with it. Him.

He never once mentioned the fact that he could heal others with his mind.

* * *

The man Sherlock met at Bart's Morgue was fascinating.

He was an army doctor with a psychosomatic limp (no longer, thanks to Sherlock), who shot a man to save Sherlock's life a little more than a day after meeting him, and was actually interested in him, not just his brain.

There were times when Sherlock was tempted to feel for him, beyond something that of deep friendship, but every time he left his guard down for too long, every single thought began to flow in, too much, and he shut it down.

So Sherlock kept any temptation he might have had locked away.

He never mentioned to John that if he so desired, he could not only read his actions, past, and future plans, but his mind and emotions as well.

* * *

The man John met at Bart's Morgue, the man who had become his best friend without him even realizing it, was bleeding out in front of him.

"Dammit, Sherlock," he growled, grabbing the man's dark blue scarf and pressing it to the hole in his chest.

Sherlock moaned faintly, gasping out weakly, "J'hn..."

John looked at Sherlock and came to a quick decision. There was no way the ambulance would arrive in time, and even if it did, Sherlock would be gone by the time it arrived. Sherlock was going to die if he didn't do something.

John closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and pressing his hand to Sherlock's chest. Sherlock's eyes widened in confusion, and he opened his mouth to speak, but any words he might have spoken were stolen when light began shining out of John's palm, creating a warm feeling on his chest.

Thirty seconds later, the bullet wound, bullet, and any possible scarring was gone.

Sherlock looked at John, in awe. "How...?"

John looked down, shrugging, and that's when Sherlock decided to let it go.

He allowed himself to feel for John at that moment, just a bit, flooding his mind with John's thoughts and emotions. Sherlock took a deep breath, fighting, and suddenly-

He was in control.

Sherlock smiled as he began to control the flow of information, allowing him to feel fully for the first time since he was a child.

_John. _

He looked at the man, who was still looking down, as if afraid of his reaction. Sherlock smiled and tilted his chin up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, John's eyes widening with shock, then closing slightly as he relaxed into the kiss.

Sherlock pulled back a few minutes later, smiling. "I need to tell you a few things when we get back to the flat."

John nodded, still half-dazed, as the ambulance wailed in the distance.

* * *

It was a few months later, and Sherlock was lying in bed with John, the shorter man's arms wrapped around the defective's waist, warm breath falling on the detective's back and neck.

Sherlock closed his eyes, marveling in the feeling of being able to know what John was thinking and feeling without it overwhelming him, of being able to feel.

"John?" he asked, softly.

John nodded, reply muffled by the consulting detective in front of him.

Sherlock smiled. "I love you."

John said something that sounded a lot like, "I love you too," before falling asleep, Sherlock soon joining him.

* * *

_**Heyy, I think I'm finally getting into the groove of this! By which I mean I didn't have to actually struggle and force myself to write this. Which is a good thing, I suppose.**_

_**Also, they have superpowers, so this technically counts, even if they aren't actual superheroes. *coughs***_

_**I am sooooo tired it isn't even funny, so the ramble will be short tonight, but Anonymoustache has taken another day off due to personal matters. Hopefully she should be back soon. :) **_

_**I have also had The Hobbit and Gattacca added to my list (thank you, mervoparkite, for the second!) which I am REALLY REALLY TEMPTED TO DO. Still, feel free to send me ideas. **_

_**Also, holy shit, you guys. The number of reviews and follows/favorites on this is astounding. A-STOUND-ING. Thank you all so much. :') You make my life brighter. **_

_**PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW because Sherlock would reallly like a tripl homicide, just as I would reallly like a review. ;)**_

_**Goodnight, or good morning,**_

_**Love, Rainy**_


	6. Day 5: Cowboys-Western AU

_Dedicated to the absolutely beautiful ice cream sundae I had today. Oh, and to Nonnymoose and mi amor. Love you ;)_

_NOTE: This is sort-of kind-of a Western one I guess? I modeled it after the story of Bonnie and Clyde, but I changed a lot of things and I don't even know anymore. Just... yeah. Hope this works. ALSO THERE ARE HINTS OF MYSTRADE but nothing explicitly stated. It is very easy to ignore (because there is technically nothing there), so if it isn't your cup of tea, feel free to ignore. Okay, I'm going to shut up now and let you read. _

* * *

**DAY 5 CHALLENGE: Cowboys/Western AU**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. **

* * *

Sherlock blew the smoke from the cigarette he was smoking into the air beside John, who was staring off into the distance. Sherlock looked down, taking the cigarette out and looking at John.

"I never should have let you and Lestrade take that picture of me with the cigar in my mouth. Now everybody thinks I smoke them."

Sherlock chuckled, turning to face him. "It was a good picture."

"No, it wasn't."

Sherlock shook his head, smiling as he took another drag.

John turned his eyes back to the sunset as Mycroft and Greg came up to them. "Ready?" Greg asked, leaning against the hood.

John nodded as Sherlock extinguished his cigarette. "Yeah. Let's go."

* * *

Sherlock winced as John wrapped the old shirt around his arm tighter. "Careful," he hissed.

John glared at him as he tightened the makeshift bandage. "Maybe you shouldn't have been shot, then." He pressed on it again, applying pressure, making Sherlock wince. "Maybe you should've listened to me when I said be careful."

Sherlock glared back as John attended to several of his other wounds. "I was," he protested.

John scoffed as he cleaned several grazes. "No, you weren't. You went in there, cocky as always, and I had to watch as you fought with the Sherriff and his men, with you, your neither, and Greg almost getting shot a few times. And then-" he pressed on his arm again- "you actually did get shot, and now I'm having to care for you." He kept his hand pressed on it the shoulder. "Git."

Sherlock smiled softly at him. "You're the one who never goes in with us while we rob places."

John frowned. "Yeah, because I'd rather not shoot people unless I have to. Had enough of that in the Army, thanks."

Sherlock looked at him, eyes curious. "Then why stay with us at all?" He winced again as John pulled the shirt tighter.

John checked the wound a second later, speaking while he did so. "Because you know I like the danger." He looked up, smiling. "And because I love you."

Sherlock smiled wryly as John leant up to place a chaste kiss on his lips, before returning to his arm.

* * *

"We've got a reward on our heads."

"What?" John shot up, wakened from his nap.

Greg brandished a poster as he climbed into the back with Mycroft. "This. Says it wants fifteen-hundred for our dead bodies. Not our capture, our bodies."

Sherlock and Mycroft made similar looks of disbelief and condescension at the same time. "They won't catch us."

Greg shrugged, putting the poster down. "Probably not. But we've got to be more careful."

John turned the ignition on the car, ignoring the sense of dread beginning to settle into his stomach.

* * *

John knew they were in trouble long before the car rolled off the road and flipped over. Unfortunately, there hadn't been much he could do about it, seeing as the car actually was out of control, implying that there wasn't much he could do in the situation.

That didn't make the fire burning his leg any less painful, however, and he screamed as Sherlock and Greg tried desperately to pull him out, Mycroft laying on the road nearby, hacking up smoke.

They eventually managed to work John free, but not before his leg felt like it had visited the fires of hell itself. Looked like it had, too- the entirety of his leg was so gruesome to look at, he could barely stomach it, and he had seen a lot during the war. It had almost shriveled up, the burns were so intense.

John thought it was ironic how the psychosomatic limp that Sherlock had cured him of long ago, after their first bank robbery as a team, was now real.

Sherlock just worried whether John would be able to run with them anymore. Or drive.

* * *

After what happened to the last car, they were reluctant to get another, but the unfortunate truth was they needed one.

The obvious solution was to steal one. And if they also stole/kidnapped the man who owned the car, oh well. Part of the job.

John pulled the car over as Sherlock slid out, quickly opening the door and pulling the man out. The man's eyes widened and his breath began to quicken, before Sherlock rolled his eyes and ungagged him.

"Here," he said. "Take this." He tossed a new shirt and some money at the shocked man.

"Oh, and do me a favour." Sherlock grinned. "Do tell those who care that John don't smoke cigars."

And with that, Sherlock and John drove away, leaving the shocked man behind.

* * *

Eventually Mycroft and Greg were injured and captured. Mycroft barely survived, and Greg was nearly blinded. By some miracle, they were both sentenced to prison terms, not the electric chair. Sherlock and John had no choice but to leave them behind.

Before they left, however, Sherlock managed to write a note to Greg, simply saying, "_Someone's after us. We'll find a way to let you know if we live. -SH" _

Greg shook his head and sat back, worried.

* * *

John stopped Sherlock one day soon after. "We need a plan."

Sherlock didn't look up from where he was filling the car with gasoline. "I know."

John smiled wryly. "Let me guess, you have some sort of brilliant plan ready to go that will somehow manage to save us both?"

Sherlock looked up, looking offended. "Of course, John. You know my methods."

John smiled at him. "Tell me, then. What's this plan you have that will save us both?"

Sherlock looked down again, putting the pump back. "All in due time."

John frowned. "Sherlock, the men after us will probably have a trap ready for us in a few days. You don't exactly have much time left to tell me."

Sherlock looked up again, climbing into driver's side. "All in due time."

John sighed and climbed in onto the passenger side, limping and muttering, "This had better work."

"Please, John," Sherlock scoffed, "when do my plans not?"

* * *

Mycroft and Greg heard the news a few weeks later.

Sherlock and John had been ambushed on a road, on their way to see Sherlock's mum. The numbers varied wildly, but they'd both sustained a gross number of gunshot wounds, many of which were fatal in and if themselves.

There was no chance they'd survived.

Mycroft took the news with a sort of dignity, grieving in his own, private way. Lestrade immediately set out to bribe one of the prison guards to give him some alcohol.

Their burials were held on different days, but in the end they were granted one of their last wishes and were buried next to each other.

Years passed, and life moved on. Mycroft and Greg were released from prison, and they got a place. Life went on.

* * *

Sherlock snuck out of the shadows and placed a note on the front door.

"Sherlock," John hissed. "Careful."

Sherlock shushed him and taped the note to the door, leaving with John, the sound of their car waking up the whole neighbourhood, at least momentarily.

* * *

It was Greg who found the note the next morning.

_"We're still alive. -SH"_

He set it on the kitchen table, sinking into a nearby chair softly. Alive, his mind repeated on a loop. Alive.

Mycroft walked into the kitchen and saw the note, picking it up and staring at it in shock for a few moments.

Greg shook his head. "Those bastards."

* * *

Somewhere, on road away from them, Sherlock and John were giggling.

* * *

_**Urrgghhh no comment I don't know you guys it's almost 2:30 in the morning lose the ability to think clearly sometime after 1:30 all I know is sleep right now I want it I need it I crave it SLEEEEEEEPPPPPPP**_

_**Also, ObservationofTrifles- SORRYSORRYSORRY I HAVEN'T BEEN MEANING TO IGNORE YOU I SWEAR but yes, I do know Alan Turing. I wasn't thinking of him specifically when I wrote that, but now that you mention him, it does bear a certain resemblance. :) Are you excited to see The Imitation Game? I hope it does his story justice.**_

_**Okayy I think that's basically it you guys. To my love. I'm thinking of you.**_

_**okay sleep now whoo whoo night love you guys**_

_**please review for the love of sleep**_

_**Goodnight, or good morning,**_

_**Love, Rainy**_


	7. Day 6: 1920s-Mafia AU

_Dedicated to my procrastination. Thanks for keeping me up until four in the morning. Thanks a lot._

* * *

**DAY 6 CHALLENGE: 1920s/Mafia AU**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. **

* * *

John sidled up to Sherlock, holding his Browning, whispering, "What're we supposed to do now?"

Sherlock smiled and whispered back, "Walk into the speakeasy. Find who we're looking for. Capture him and wait for Mycroft's men."

John pocketed his gun, glaring at Sherlock. "Why did I have to bring this, then?"

Sherlock smirked. "In case complications arise."

John cocked an eyebrow. "Will they?"

Sherlock grinned, whispering in his ear, "Possibly," before walking away, pulling his hat lower.

John shook his head. "Git," he whispered fondly, before walking after him.

* * *

John followed Sherlock into the illicit bar, trying not to act too suspiciously.

He wasn't a law enforcement officer, certainly, and he wasn't going to bust the speakeasy. He had been known to go to one or two, after all, in the few years since the Eighteenth had passed. But he was there to nab the man who was helping to run the place- apparently, Mycroft Holmes, government official, would let alcohol smuggling and various other crimes go, but when murder was committed it was a completely different story.

John shot a look at Sherlock, who was approaching the man. Sherlock glared back, telling him quite clearly with his eyes to stay quiet and please for the love of all things good and holy don't come over until he gestured for him to do so please.

John sighed and leant back against the bar, eyeing a few of the patrons to irritate Sherlock. Sherlock scowled at John, before returning his eyes to the man.

"Hello," he said, his voice slipping into a rougher accent. "I need to see you. Somewhere privately, preferably."

The man glared over at him. "And who are you?"

Sherlock waved John over, continuing to speak to the man, still managing to sound posh, even with the fake accent. "Oh, an interested party."

The man backed up slightly, suspicious. "An interested party in what?"

Which is precisely when he walked into John, whose gun was obvious in his jacket pocket. Sherlock smirked as the man paled, voice slipping back into its natural accent. "I think we can discuss that during our meeting. Would you care to show us to a more private place?"

The man shook visibly. "O-Of course. Follow me."

John mouthed to Sherlock as they followed the man. "He killed someone?"

Sherlock mouthed back, "He garroted them. Over five of them."

John raised an eyebrow and mouthed to Sherlock, "Is this a trap?"

Sherlock smiled. "Probably. Have your Browning ready."

John sighed. _Of course._ He placed a hand on the handle, ready to pull it out the second the man they were following opened the nearby door.

The man opened the door and ducked.

Sherlock and John ducked as well, narrowly avoiding the gunfire fired at them as soon as the door opened.

John cursed and rolled out of the way while Sherlock did the same in the opposite direction. John fired a few shots from his Browning, crawling toward Sherlock. "Run," he hissed at him, and he stood and did, Sherlock following.

They didn't stop until they were a few blocks away.

* * *

Mycroft leant forward at his desk. "So you left, because there was a trap, and the man I wanted you to capture is still not captured?"

Sherlock glared. "You knew it was a trap and didn't bother to tell us. We got you valuable intelligence. That's a fair trade."

Mycroft sighed, clearly not in the mood to argue, leaning back. "Alright. You can go home. You'll be paid tomorrow."

Sherlock nodded, glaring, and left, John trailing after him.

* * *

Sherlock was sitting on the couch at their flat, head om John's lap as he explored the depths of his mind palace.

John smiled, stroking his hair absentmindedly before returning to the newspaper he was reading.

"This won't be the last time we're shot at," Sherlock commented absently, John nodding as he kept his eyes on the paper.

"Yeah."

Sherlock opened his eyes a fraction. "Don't get shot."

John snorted, looking down momentarily. "It's you I'm worried about. I have a gun. I can fire back."

Sherlock smiled and closed his eyes again, John returning to his paper.

For a while, all was well.

* * *

_**Okay guys it is literally four in the morning I can't function to save my life I apologize for any glaring typos or fuck-ups or shitty plot in general this didn't come to me until around midnight so yeah**_

_**I lose the ability to use punctuation properly sometime after 4. **_

_**Please please please please reviewc**_

_**Love, Rainy**_


	8. Day 7-8: Steampunk & Fairytale AU

_Dedicated to sleepless nights and he fact I can't gt anything done unless it's past one A.M. Woohoo. _

* * *

**DAY 7&8 CHALLENGE: Steampunk AU & Disney/Fairytale AU**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. **

* * *

_An adaptation of the original Grimm's Fairytale "The Goose Girl", including steampunk elements. Idek, guys. _

Sherlock eyed the piece of cloth his mother had given him before she sent him to be married to a foreign prince with distaste. It was marked with three droplets of blood, from her finger. And for the life of him, Sherlock could not understand the gesture.

Sentiment, he supposed.

James Moriarty, his Lord-in-Waiting, watched him carefully, smirking. "Problem, sir?"

Sherlock waved his hand at him dismissively. "Nothing, James," he said callously. He adjusted himself on his mechanical horse, tucking the handkerchief back into his pocket. "Could you fetch me some water?"

James smirked at him. "Go get it yourself."

Sherlock turned to him, eyebrow cocked. "Pardon?"

James kept his gaze leveled at him, grinning. "You heard me. You can't make do it. You have no power over me here, in this forest." His smile was malicious. "There's no one but you and me."

Sherlock glared back, unimpressed. "And what of when we leave?"

James shrugged, smiling. "We'll see."

Sherlock glared. "I command you to get me some water."

James pulled his horse to stop, clanking and whirring pausing as he glared at Sherlock. "Make me."

Sherlock stopped his horse as well, causing the carriage behind them carrying Sherlock's possessions to stop as well, everything suddenly stilling as he glared at James.

James smirked and started again.

Sherlock stared after him for a moment, before following.

* * *

The night before they were due to arrive at the kingdom, Sherlock awoke with a knife at his throat.

Sherlock blinked as James' face came into focus. "Sherlock," he hissed, and a look of pure hatred passed over his face. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly.

James grinned maliciously down at him. "I want you to clothes with me, and ride my horse into the capital." He leaned lower, breathing hot, sour air into Sherlock's ear as he whispered, "Tell anyone, and I will kill you."

Sherlock closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as he let his body relax, making it look like he was defeated. James pulled back slightly, withdrawing the knife.

Sherlock rolled to the side, standing quickly and turning to face James, who was now standing as well, knife out and pointed at Sherlock as he glared.

"Clothes. Now," he hissed. "Or else I will skin you." He grinned suddenly, as if this was a good idea. "I'll turn you into shoes."

Sherlock kicked his own shoes off as he glared at James, defeated.

* * *

Sherlock looked down as they rode their horses into the capital, trying to ignore the stares.

He said nothing as James introduced himself as Sherlock Holmes, and Sherlock as James Moriarty, his lord-in-waiting.

Sherlock said nothing and looked down as they led him outside, saying that while he couldn't be Prince Sherlock's Lord-in-Waiting anymore, they did have a job for helping to tend the geese, if he was interested.

Sherlock quickly deduced the boy he would be working with, Greg Lestrade, but said nothing as he showed him where he would be working and explained what he would be doing.

He didn't sleep that night, either.

He stayed awake the whole night, formulating a plan, holding his mother's handkerchief, which James had conveniently forgot, planning revenge.

Or, not revenge: a chance to take back what had been taken from him.

Yes, he was planning for his chance.

* * *

Greg looked over at him. "You don't talk much, do you?"

Sherlock looked up, startled out of his thoughts by the boy (young man).

Greg laughed, holding his hand up to Sherlock. "Here, let me help you up."

Sherlock stood, eyeing the boy tentatively.

Greg pointed to the geese in the distance. "I think you're supposed to be watching those." He turned around, then looked back at Sherlock, slightly puzzled. "Forgive me, but what's your name again?"

But by then, Sherlock was already gone, chasing after the geese.

* * *

It was through Greg that Sherlock learnt that his horse, Falada, was going to be dismantled.

As soon as he could, Sherlock snuck off to see the royal mechanic.

He paid him to rebuild the horse's head and hang it on the bridge near where Greg and he guided the geese every morning.

He left, clutching his mother's handkerchief.

_Soon. _

* * *

Sherlock found the horse head, working, right where he had paid the mechanic to put it a few days previously.

Sherlock looked around, making sure Greg was doing what he usually did right about then, and walked up to the horse.

"Hello, Felada," he whispered softly.

Felada whirred slightly in response.

Sherlock smiled and reached up, petting the nose of the horse softly, gears whirring as the horse moved to lean into the touch.

Sherlock noticed Lestrade beginning to walk toward him, and began to tell the horse's head of all that happened, making sure to make it loud enough that Greg could hear, but making sure to keep facing the horse's head, so as to not make it look as if he was trying to get Greg to listen.

Sherlock turned around once his tale wad over, and adopted a face if appropriate shock and horror when he say Greg standing there.

"L-Lestrade," he said, stammering. He looked down, appearing ashamed.

Greg looked at him, confused. He opened his mouth to say something, but Sherlock turned around, running away, trying not to laugh as he outran Greg.

Things were going according to plan.

* * *

Sure enough, the next morning, Sherlock was sent for by the King.

Sherlock smiled and walked silently to the room where he was to meet the King.

King Watson looked down at Sherlock skeptically.

Sherlock suddenly remembered to bow, kneeling before the King.

King Watson sighed and waved him up. "Let's skip the formalities for now," he said. "I have had my official goose boy come and report to me that you are, in fact, the actual Sherlock Holmes, and the one attempting to court my son and failing miserably is an imposter." He looked closely at Sherlock, scrutinizing him. "Is this true?"

Sherlock looked down, a fake look to regret on his face. "Sir, I can't say if that is true or not, for fear of my life."

King Watson leant back into his throne, which whirred slightly as its mechanical components moved and adjusted themselves to make the chair more comfortable for the King and his shifting weight. "So, you can neither confirm nor deny this."

Sherlock looked up and looked the King directly in the eyes. "You are correct, sir. I can't divulge as to whether that is true or not in the presence of another living human being."

The King sagged slightly more, then leant forward again as he caught the full meaning of Sherlock's words, a small smile playing across his lips. "A living human being, you say?"

Sherlock nodded sincerely.

The King grinned, a plan beginning to form in his head which happened to coincide with Sherlock's. "So if I were to put you in a room with a mechanical, speaking bird, you would be able to tell it the truth of the matter?"

Sherlock smiled but kept his tone doubtful. "I suppose so, sir..."

The King grinned. "And if that bird were to relay what it heard to me, or I were to stand outside the door as you relayed the truth, then you would not be telling another human being."

Sherlock smiled carefully. "Yes, sir, I do think that would work."

* * *

The King listened carefully as Sherlock told the bird his tale, leaving out no detail.

Sherlock continued to plan, and the King plotted as well.

* * *

And so it was that on the night before Prince John Watson and the fake Prince Sherlock Holmes, who was actually James Moriarty, were meant to be wed, that the King sent for Sherlock Holmes, with instructions for him to arrive at the feast.

Sherlock arrived, dressed in his own attire for the first one since he had entered the kingdom, and was told to wait in hiding behind a curtain.

James entered, grinning triumphantly, followed by John, who was looking exceedingly uncomfortable.

Sherlock allowed a quick glance at the man who, if all went according to plan, would be his husband.

He'd went with his kingdom's army during their last war, against his father's wishes and was injured in battle- leg?- no, shoulder, the leg was psychosomatic, as evidenced by the fact that he was able to stand perfectly well without the help of his cane. Short as well.

Sherlock frowned, then pushed the thought away. There were far worse things someone could be. Such as traitorous.

Sherlock tore his eyes away from the man, watching the King again, who reached for a letter he had carried with him as several servants bustled in and out with food.

"Sherlock," he said, addressing James coldly. "What fate do you think should befall someone who was to impersonate a royal, claiming not only their identity, but all their belongings, their future, and threatened the real royal's life as well?"

James looked slightly confused, but spoke maliciously, forming a punishment almost instantaneously. "My lord, they would deserve to be thrown naked into a barrel full of nails, and dragged throughout the streets of this city by a team of horses." John looked at James, horrified.

The King nodded his head at him. "Ah. Well, James, you're lucky we don't prescribe punishment as barbaric as that anymore, because otherwise, you would have just described your own fate."

James's face paled as the King produced a letter, motioning for Sherlock to come out, who did so, causing a look of confusion and then understanding to dawn on John's face. "You see, James, Sherlock's mother, the Queen of your native land, sent me a letter which arrived by bird a few days before your arrival, in which she said her son would have a certain handkerchief, which had three of her blood droplets adorning it." He stood, looking down upon the rapidly-paling James. "Now, I will admit that I was confused as to why you didn't show it to me as proof of your identity, but I thought it was possible you had lost it. After all, it is a long journey between our two kingdoms." He gestured to Sherlock, who was glaring at James, holding the handkerchief. "But then I heard of this young man, who told an incredible tale to one of our birds, and who had this handkerchief to prove his tale."

The King gestured to the guards, who took James away as he yelled protests and explanations.

Sherlock smiled at the King, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thank you, my lord."

The King nodded and gestured for him to sit, which he did. He shot a look at the man across the table from him (his fiancée, he realized suddenly), shi was watching him curiously.

Sherlock returned the scrutiny.

The man (John) grinned, and mouthed "We'll talk later," before looking down to eat.

Sherlock looked at him curiously, before looking down to eat as well.

* * *

"So," John said, walking up to Sherlock, "We're getting married tomorrow, and we just met."

Sherlock looked over to the man walking beside him, trying not to show how much he had startled him. "Yes," he replied slowly.

John grinned at him, sidling closer. "Well, then. Let's get to know each other."

Sherlock's eyes widened with alight alarm, and John took a step back involuntarily, looking embarrassed as he realized the negative connotations of his words. "No, no, not that way."

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. "Alright, then."

John looked at him curiously. "I would, however, like to get to know you, at least a little bit."

Sherlock smiled. "I already know you served with your kingdom in your last war, and was shot in the shoulder. You have a psychosomatic limp, and your older brother is an alcoholic unfit to rule the kingdom after your father dies."

John stopped dead, amazement in his eyes. "H-how did you know..."

Sherlock smiled and opened the door for his own bedchamber. "I think that's enough for now." He walked in, poking his head out slightly. "I'll tell you the rest tomorrow."

And with that, he shut the door on the amazed face of John Watson, grinning slightly to himself.

He got the feeling he would end up John Watson a lot.

* * *

_**hEEEYYY YOU GUYS so I decided to combine these two challenges and make what is probably the messiest thing I have ever written (and hopefully will write), but you know what? I live in the hope that this is a hot mess.**_

_**pleasepleasepleaseplease don't criticize me too much *flinches***_

_**And thank you all for the lovely suggestions! I have actually saved them, for future ideas, because I don't want to let such good ideas go to waste. ;) Again, thank you. **_

_**I... Have nothing else to say. Except please, please, please review. Reviews to me are what bowl full of goldfish are of Mycroft. (Feel free to ignore the wtf-comparison, but please do review.)**_

_**Goodnight, or good morning, **_

_**Love, Rainy**_

_***lays back in bed to fall asleep and smashes back of head against headboard***_


	9. Day 9: PoliceDetectives AU

**DAY 9 CHALLENGE: Police/Detectives AU**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. **

* * *

_So I begged PennamePersona for help, and she gave me this treasure. Worship her, guys. Worship. Her. She just saved my life._

_"What about having it be similar to canon, except Sherlock is a member of Lestrade's division and John is a new member of the force with (potentially) a past traumatic event, and it could be like ASiP style except the two of them are actually MEANT to be solving the case."_

* * *

Sherlock looked at Lestrade incredulously. "Please tell me you're joking."

Lestrade shook his head, trying not to smile at the shocked detective. "No, I'm completely serious."

Sherlock turned to look at the short man standing across the room, who was currently glaring at Sherlock. "You're going to make me work with him."

Lestrade nodded, grinning. "It was Stamford who recommended him." He looked at the mutual glares of animosity between them, and grinned. "I'll leave you two to talk." With that, he left the room.

Sherlock glared at the short man._ (John, his mind supplied.) _

John glared at the tall git._ (Sherlock, he recalled, Stamford's words coming back to him.) _

Things continued in such a fashion for a minute or two, before John looked down, then up again, smiling wryly. "Alright," he said.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "'Alright', what?"

John held out his hand. "Alright, let's sort out our differences. It's obvious you don't want to work with me, but you're stuck with me for now."

Sherlock eyed his hand suspiciously. "You played the clarinet as a child," he blurted out.

John looked at him, looking slightly confused, and maybe a little amazed, not withdrawing his hand, as he answered slowly, "I did. How did you know?"

Sherlock took a deep breath, and began to tell John his own life story.

By the time he was done, there was no typical look of hatred or fear. Instead, a look of wonder sat on the older man's face.

Sherlock felt a surge of warmth as the other man praised him.

Maybe he wouldn't mind working with him after all.

* * *

Sherlock looked over at John as he drove them to the third serial suicide.

John was paying attention to the streets as he drove, but he sensed Sherlock looking at him, and smiled. "Have any ideas as to what it could be?"

Sherlock smirked, eyes turning to stare out the front again. "Eight. But I need to see the crime scene for more information."

John chuckled. "Of course."

* * *

After a (unofficial) chase throughout London, getting yelled at Lestrade for doing things without informing him, confronting the murderer (without informing Lestrade), and almost dying, then being saved by a mysterious shooter (whose identity Sherlock would never reveal), Sherlock was rather tired.

Or hungry, rather.

After being told by Lestrade that he and John could go home, he looked over at his new companion, smiling. "Dinner?"

John smiled back. "Starving."

As they walked away, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world for John to wrap his arm around Sherlock's, pulling him closer, so he did, ignoring the questioning stares of their fellow NSY members as they walked away.

Sherlock smiled awkwardly at John and their entwined arms, but made no comment, instead saying, "You've been looking for a new flat."

John nodded, knowing it wasn't a question.

Sherlock smiled and continued, "I've found a nice place, for a discount..."

And so their partnership truly began.

* * *

_**Okay, you guys, I know, this one is super-duper-short, and I apologize. But I wanted it out of the way.**_

_**With that said, please help me with some of the upcoming challenges. With the exception of maybe one or two, I have no idea what I'm doing. So, really, anything helps. **_

_**Thank you.**_

_**Please, please, review, in the hopes that one day Sherlock will one day soon wear again his magnificent purple shirt, and tomorrow I will write something whose quality rises somewhat above "shitty". **_

_**Love, Rainy**_


	10. Day 10, Part 1 (Intro)

_Dedicated to Nonnymoose and my love. I had something clever to say here, but I forgot it._

* * *

**DAY 10 CHALLENGE: Time Travelers****AU INTRO**

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. **

* * *

_It just so happens that occasionally, there are humans who are born with the power to traverse time. _

_For some, the power is never fully realized, and they live their entire lives without ever discovering that they held a fantastic power within their minds and bodies. _

_For others, it was realized from a very young age. Those who did almost never had a happy fate, as they often didn't have nearly as much control over their power as they should have, or could have, and as such travelled to dangerous places where they met unhappy fates._

_Both cases were rare, however. Most of those blessed (or cursed, some would say) with this ability discovered their power during their early adult years naturally, or after a traumatic event. _

_Their existence was highly debated for centuries. _

_By the time of the early twentieth century AD, their existence was neither confirmed nor denied, but highly doubted. _

_It was then that John Watson was born. _

* * *

_Sherlock Holmes, by contrast, was born in the late twenty-first century AD, when people born with the ability to travel through time were known to exist, but were studied, protected. _

_Studied because scientists wanted to know how they could travel throughout time without altering the timeline. (Answers weren't discovered fir this particular phenomenon, at least not for another century or so.) Protected because it was discovered they were extremely rare. One for every billion rare. _

_It was rather a fortunate time for Sherlock Holmes to be born._

* * *

_**Alright, guys, so here's the deal. I actually have more of this written. I am going to continue this tomorrow, because this is the only challenge I have anything planned for, and my god I am not going to let that go to waste. But I am currently so exhausted that if I tried to write any more of this, it would be forced and rushed and not anywhere near as good as I would like it to be.**_

_**So what this means is I will be posting the rest of this tomorrow. And I will be (hopefully) be posting what that day's challenge SHOULD be as well. (The Harry Potter 'verse one, which I'm rreeaaallllyy looking forward to, actually, even if I have nothing planned.)**_

_**So please, my friends, accept this tidbit with the promise of more to come. **_

_**And also- because several people have asked, aside from the "plot of your favorite book" AU, this was officially the only day I'd really planned something in advance for. So feel free to leave suggestions for any of the prompts. Actually, please do.**_

_**For those who have given me suggestions already- you are the absolute best. :')**_

_**For those who have reviewed- you are also the best and you are all very special and lovely people :')**_

_**Please, please, please review this small morsel I have left you. For the love of Sherlock and Mycroft playing Operation.**_

_**Love, Rainy**_


	11. Day 10, Part 2

_Dedicated to my Crystal Castles Pandora station for keeping me sane. Only you, dear station, could go from playing angry hardcore electronic to indie rock bands to classical to vaguely-jazzy and have it make sense and work._

_Oh, and to Nonnymoose and the one I love. Cuz you guys are awesome._

* * *

**Heyyy, you guys! It's part two! Enjoy!**

* * *

John Watson discovered he could travel backward in time when he was shot in the shoulder during the Normandy Landings.

As he laid there on the ground, vision fading slightly, he closed his eyes, breathing what he thought would be one of his last breaths.

He woke up in a hospital.

It took him about ten minutes to realize that said hospital was from somewhere far in the future.

He passed out from exhaustion a few minutes later.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes received word that another of his kind had appeared randomly, in the middle of a hospital, with a bullet wound in his shoulder, almost immediately after it was confirmed that a), yes, this man was actually a time traveler, and b), his wound wasn't fatal.

Sherlock came over as soon as he could. He'd never met anyone else like him before- a fellow traveler.

He watched the sleeping man curiously, observing him, deducing him, staying quiet.

* * *

John woke up with a strange man in his room, watching him curiously.

John remembered a few seconds later where he was, and experienced a brief moment of shock, before returning to the man watching him.

John blinked at him, waiting for him to say something.

The man blinked back.

John eventually cleared his throat. "Err, hello."

The man blinked back at him, saying calmly, "Hello."

John frowned at him, confused. "Is there a reason you're in here?"

The man suddenly stood up, walking toward John. "My name's Sherlock Holmes, and you're a time traveler." He straightened his coat. "Like me."

John raised an eyebrow. "A time- wait, no. That's not what happened." His voice took on a patient, explanatory tone. "No, something else must have happened, because there is no way-"

Sherlock interrupted, exasperated. "John, it's the year 2085." He frowned. "It is John, right? That's what it says on your records."

John blinked. And blinked again. "You're having me on." He decided to ignore the fact that this man knew his name.

Sherlock shook his head. "I am not joking." He then turned to look at the wall. "You're due to be discharged in an hour. Meet me outside then."

And with a swish of his coat, he was gone.

* * *

Just as Sherlock said, he was discharged in an hour.

John found him outside, leaning against the wall, tapping impatiently against his- device of some sort. John decided not to ask to avoid the headache.

He looked up when he saw John. "Ah," he said, putting his whatever-it-was away. "Care to come with me?"

John frowned at him. "Come with you where?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Anywhere. We've got all of our time at our disposal."

John nodded skeptically. "Alright. Ignoring the fact that I just met you and don't know anything about you, why would I go with you?"

Sherlock smiled, taking a glove off of his hand (John, again, did not allow himself to contemplate what type of material could fit so snugly against his hand and come off so easily) and holding it out for John to shake. "I know you were born in the early twentieth century, that you served in World War Two, and you only have one living relative, an older sibling you haven't talked with in years. And that was before I looked up your records."

John took his hand, shaking it, a slightly amused and fascinated smile gracing his lips. "Really. And what did my records say?"

Sherlock smirked, pulling his hand back and placing it back in his glove. "That you were shot in Normandy, that you were rescued, but before they could perform surgery on you, you vanished." Sherlock held up a document (John was going to tell himself it was a document, and not something that wouldn't be out of place in a science fiction story), proving his point.

John blinked. "I need to get back."

Sherlock frowned, perplexed. "Do you?"

John sighed. "Yes, Mr. Holmes. I can't leave. That's desertion."

Sherlock frowned again. "I suppose so." He stayed quiet for a moment, before saying, "But once you can, meet me back here." He added, as an afterthought, "Oh, and call me Sherlock."

John quickly thought of what he had to look forward to once the war was over (assuming they won, and he survived), and quickly realized he had nothing. So he smiled and nodded at Sherlock. "Sure, if I can." He added, "And assuming this wasn't a fluke."

Sherlock shook his head, smiling. "This wasn't a fluke."

John shrugged, and then was gone.

* * *

John returned not ten minutes after he had originally vanished.

When asked where he had gone, and more importantly, what happened to his shoulder, which, for all intents and purposes, should have been grievously injured, he shrugged and said he wasn't quite sure, and he didn't remember being injured in the first place.

The various medical personnel shrugged and briefly mentioned it in a report, assuming it was just a fluke, something misreported. They didn't care one way or another.

They had others to care for.

* * *

After John returned back from the war, he sat in his flat miserably for about three weeks before he remembered the strange man.

Sherlock.

John debated leaving for only thirty seconds before he closed his eyes, concentrated, and was gone.

* * *

Sherlock ran into John.

Quite literally.

Sherlock stumbled as John rubbed his head where it had hit Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at him. "John, right?"

John nodded. "Right. And you're Sherlock." He straightened, looking him in the eye. "You said meet you here."

Sherlock blinked at him. "It's been all of thirty seconds for me."

John shrugged. "Well, it's been years for me." He looked the man over, finally saying, "You mentioned something about traveling?"

Sherlock smiled at him, a slow grin spreading across his features. "Take my hand."

John took it hesitantly, then froze slightly as a mental connection formed between them. "What-"

Sherlock shrugged. "It ensures we'll end up in the same place." He turned to him, smiling. "Close your eyes. We'll be there momentarily."

John scoffed, closing his eyes. "Yeah, where's 'there'?"

Sherlock smiled as he closed his eyes, focusing. "You'll see."

And like that, they were gone.

* * *

_The funny thing about memory is that it is selective. _

_Looking back, later in life, John wouldn't be able to remember half of the places and times he and Sherlock visited, no matter fascinating they were. _

_(Sherlock, of course, didn't forget a single moment of it, discounting what he deleted. Which was a surprisingly small amount.)_

_John struggled to remember people's names and faces, and the villages and metropolises he had visited, but he remembered the small, individual moments. _

_He remembered the times he laughed, the times he cried, the first time he and Sherlock kissed. The time they were separated._

_He remembered the emotions most clearly. _

_"Sentiment," Sherlock would scoff whenever John mentioned those particular memories._

_John would just roll his eyes, because he knew Sherlock retained those same memories. _

* * *

John staggered, clutching a stitch in his side as he struggled to breathe and laugh.

"You- you-"

He laughed, shaking his head.

Sherlock leaned against a wall, closing his eyes as he struggled to regain control of his breathing. "To which part of that are you referring?" he managed to gasp out.

John shook his head, panting. "All- all of it." He looked up, face flushed with exertion. "You can- you can box? You're a boxer?"

Sherlock shook his head, chuckling. "I've dabbled in the art."

John shook his head, laughing. "Dabbled, he says," John said, shaking his head. "Your dabbling led you to be able to take down three men?"

Sherlock shrugged, still panting, but breathing slightly closer to normal. "That wasn't pure boxing. That was actually-"

John shook his head, too tired to have anything explained to him at the moment. "Whatever it was, it was fantastic," he said, standing up a little straighter as his regained some control over his breathing.

Sherlock smiled at him. "Thank you."

John nodded, head resting against the wall as a fit of giggles suddenly overtook him.

Sherlock joined in a second later, and they sad like that for a few minutes, giggling over everything and nothing, the absurdity of their existence and experiences.

After a while, John looked at Sherlock. "Where are we, then?"

Sherlock smirked. "Well, you see-"

* * *

Sherlock stared up at the stars with John sometime during the Mesozoic Era. (Jurassic Period, to be exact.)

John looked around them, as if suddenly realizing where they were. "Shouldn't we be worried-?"

Sherlock shook his head, shushing him. "We're only staying here for a few minutes. Just be quiet, and enjoy it." Sherlock turned to him, smiling wryly, whispering, "This stop was primarily for you."

John mouthed silently, "Me?"

Sherlock nodded. "You like looking at the stars." Sherlock smiled wryly. "And it gives me a chance to observe prehistoric flora and fauna."

John shook his head, smiling, whispering, "Of course." He turned back to the stars.

Sherlock joined him in watching a few minutes later.

* * *

"John!"

"Sherlock!" John yelled as they were dragged away from each other.

John looked at the men dragging them away, and at Sherlock.

John's eyes met Sherlock's and locked on. "Paris!" he yelled.

Sherlock yelled back, "When?", but John was already gone.

Sherlock closed his eyes and left.

* * *

According to the Sherlock's time keeping device, it took six months for him to find John again.

He had been sitting on a bench sometime in the late 1800s when suddenly, John was next to him.

Sherlock jumped, staring. John seemed just as startled.

"Hey," he said, glancing at Sherlock. "How long's it been for you?"

Sherlock frowned. "Six months, approximately. And you?"

John winced. "Three months."

Sherlock smiled wryly and took his hand. "That's alright."

He leant forward. "Want to go somewhere else now?

John grinned. "Oh, god, yes."

And when they next found themselves on a ship in the middle of the ocean a few decades after, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world for them to go to a private spot and kiss for the first time, Sherlock's mouth slightly minty as it met John's.

And then the second.

And third.

They decided to go somewhere else sometime around the eighth, because being discovered snogging the life out if each other on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic in the year 1912 probably wouldn't be the best, and that was disregarding the fact they were both male.

So they moved a century or so forward in time, and continued there.

* * *

John turned to Sherlock as they laid on a grassy knoll.

"Hey, 'Lock," he said softly, "Do you ever think about settling down?"

Sherlock frowned. "I can't say I have."

John sat up on his elbow, so he was above him. "We wouldn't have to stop what we were doing," he said softly. "We'd just have a place to go to once we were done with a certain time or place." He smiled. "You could use your deductive reasoning, become a detective."

Sherlock smiled. "Maybe one day."

John smiled and laid back down beside him, reaching over and grabbing his hand, squeezing it softly.

Sherlock smiled and closed his eyes, soft breeze smelling of night air and all things dark and unseen yet strangely familiar and dangerously beautiful filling his brain as his breathing intermingled with John's, moonlight illuminating them.

All was peaceful.

* * *

_***cackles***_

_**I FINISHED**_

_**AND IT IS RELATIVELY LONG**_

_**AND I DIDN'T LOSE MY FUCKING MIND TRYING TO WRITE THIS**_

_**I consider this AN ACCOMPLISHMENT**_

_**Okay, you guys. This does mean I do owe you two stories tomorrow. For those of you who wish to do so, feel free to email me or PM me at various points in the day to encourage me to get off tumblr or to stop texting and, you know, actually write, so I can get both done. Because otherwise I am most likely going to sit on my lazy ass and procrastinate the entire day. **_

_**Thank you all so, so much for the reviews and suggestions/ideas/prompts. You are literally saving me from a slow downward spiral into insanity. (Well, to be fair, I'm already on one. But you're slowing my descent. So thanks.)**_

_**I love you all, and please, please, please, PLEASE review, because a) reviews= writer candy, b) reviews= Rainy's lifeblood, and c) reviews are to me what a giant cake is to Mycroft. **_

_**(idek, guys, I'm tired.)**_

_**Love, Rainy**_

_**P.S. One of the downsides of having a Pandora station that plays really good music? IT PLAYS REALLY GOOD MUSIC. I wanted to stop it ten minute ago, but then it played Rainy Streets by Blue in Green, then We Are The People by Empire of the Sun, and now it's playing When I'm Small by Phantogram and WHEN DOES THIS END HELP ME**_


	12. Day 11: Homeless-Runaways

_Dedicated to the small amount of music on my phone. Alas, there would be more, but my phone's memory is limited. But hey, I have a device that stores and plays music, and I am grateful for that. _

_Oh, and to Nonnymoose, and my love._

_To Nonnymoose: WHOOP WHOOP SUMMER YEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH_

_To My Love: Good luck with everything! :3_

* * *

_Alright, guys, I swapped this challenge out with the Potter!Verse one, because I want that one to have some length to it, and seeing as I am writing this at 1:30 in the morning, that is unlikely to happen. So, that's tomorrow, which means today you get..._

* * *

**DAY 11 CHALLENGE: Runaways/Homeless AU**

**Challenge accepted.**

* * *

John yawned, stretching slowly as his back ached.

Sleeping against the side of buildings, he'd discovered, especially when it was cold and/or wet (and when was it not?), was not the best way to treat his back. Or joints. Or spine. Or ribs. Or any part of him, really.

When he awoke he was usually sore, hungry, cold, and in such a foul mood that it made his (usually) hungover sister's behaviour before ten AM seem relatively civilized.

She'd offered, when he first returned from the war. To let him live with her. And the saddest part about the whole affair was, he had actually considered it, almost accepted it, even. That was before he remembered the drinking, and all the fights, how unrepentantly rude and abrasive his sister could be at times, and the many other reasons why them living together, no matter how temporary the arrangement, would be a terrible idea.

So John had lived off his army pension for as long as he could, and when that was no longer able to sustain him, he moved out of his bare and miserable flat with the intention of finding a new one, only to never have that happen.

He'd been on the streets for just under six months, now. He hadn't told Harry, and, quite honestly, had no desire to tell her. She'd just fuss and worry and make an even bigger mess of things, and John didn't want that, even a little bit.

He blinked, and when he saw that the sky was still starry, he moaned and rolled back over onto his side, determined to get a few more hours of sleep, soreness in the morning be damned.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was just on the other side of the alley, laying down but most definitely not sleeping.

He wasn't homeless. He had a homeless network, yes, and he was currently spending the night on the street, but he had a place to return to if he so chose. Which he didn't, because Montague Street was boring, and his landlord was exceedingly dull (and had also kicked him out, and told him he had two week's notice to leave.)

He turned when he heard the muffled yawn, and then the movements at the other end of the alley.

He stood up tentatively, walking over to where he heard the noises.

"Hello?" he asked.

A man's eyes opened, and he stared ta him for a few moments, blinking blearily. He was dirty (had been homeless for about six months, judging by the state of his clothes and his appearance), and moved sluggishly, still half-asleep.

"Who're you?" he eventually forced out.

Sherlock blinked at him. "Who are you?"

The man groaned, sitting up. "I asked first." He looked Sherlock over, frowning. "And what do you want?"

Sherlock frowned. "I wanted to see who or what was down here."

John shrugged, laying back down. "Well, then, you saw who it is. Just let me sleep now, please."

Sherlock looked him over, concentrating. "You're... an army doctor." He smiled. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

The man sat up again, eyeing Sherlock suspiciously. "Afghanistan," he answered after a moment.

Sherlock grinned. "Good. I require an assistant." He looked at the man.

The man looked back, slightly baffled. "Alright..."

Sherlock smiled, suddenly recalling an old client of his who would be willing to give them a discount. "Meet me in two day's time, at 221B Baker Street."

The man frowned, then looked shocked as he realized what he meant. "But-," he spluttered, "I just met you!" He added, as an afterthought. "I don't even know your name."

Sherlock smiled mischievously at him. "The name's Sherlock Holmes. And you are?"

John blinked. "John Watson," he said quietly.

Sherlock grinned. "I'll see you then."

He turned around, and with a swish of his coat, was gone.

* * *

A few years later, John woke up in Sherlock's arms, back feeling relatively fine, the good, not starving kind of hungry, and warm.

He smiled up at the man.

"Thank you," he whispered, and then promptly fell asleep.

* * *

_**heeeeeyyyyy guys**_

_**I am very sorry this is late**_

_**and I didn't reply to reviews**_

**_I had a very busy day and am now very sleepy_**

**_I will tomorrow, promise._**

**_Love you all, and thank you_**

**_Please forgive any typos/general suckiness._**

**_This was based off a suggestion by the lovely jaimi-or-jaemi_**

**_thank you so much m'dear_**

**_Goodnight, or good morning,_**

**_Love, Rainy_**


	13. forgive me (another announcement)

_**Heyy, you guys.**_

_**I am so, so, so, so sorry about this in advance, but I need to take a few days off from this. **_

_**I realized this after I had a panic attack because it is now 1:30 in the morning, I have next-to-nothing written, I need sleep desperately, and I read some news earlier that deeply disturbed me on a personal level, and things sort of spiraled out of control to the point where I had a panic attack. **_

_**Trust me, guys, I **__**really**__** don't want to do this. I cried (and had another panic attack) when I first realized I kind of needed to do this, and I'm crying now. (Because if there's one thing I fear more than commitment, it's failure to live up to a commitment.) I would give anything in the world to not have to do this, but I need to, for the sake of my own sanity. Writing should be fun for me, and not stressful beyond belief, but as of right now, "stressful beyond belief" is an understatement as to how I feel. I am mentally and physically exhausted, and writing in general has never been a stress-free activity for me. (Not that I still don't love it and find it relaxing and therapeutic and all that jazz. But it still can be stressful.) **_

_**But I'm rambling now. My point is, I'm going to take five days off from this. As of right now, it is about approximately 1:45 on the morning of June 14th. Tomorrow is the sixteenth anniversary of my birth. For the next five days I am going to relax, curl up with my new copy of all of the original SACD Sherlock Holmes stories (it was a gift) and re-read some of my favorites, maybe swim a bit, sleep in, and generally try to regain some semblance of sanity and mental stability. On June 19th, I will post a new chapter, and will continue from there until I have done every single one of these AUs. **_

_**Please don't hate me. I hate myself for doing this, and I am really am truly, very sorry. **_

_**Okay, I have to go now, before I give my computer water-damage. **_

_**Love you all. **_

_**Please forgive me. **_

_**Love, Rainy**_


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